


A Place for You Here

by Processpending



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Chubby Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Geraskier, Hurt/Comfort, If you squint and wait for it to walk around the corner, Insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24164185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Processpending/pseuds/Processpending
Summary: When Jaskier gets himself stuck in a window Winnie the Pooh style the bard realizes he's not quite the lithe young man he once was.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 66





	A Place for You Here

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt came from the lovely Moonykins on our Witcher discord.  
> This story wouldn't have been possible without the lovelies on there throwing in ideas for what they wanted to see happen.

“You have to go.” Of all the words Jaskier has woken up to over the years, none have ever gotten him moving faster. “ _Hurry_.” She hisses. Jaskier scrabbles to remember her name but quickly decides it doesn’t really matter if he’s being kicked out.

Jaskier rolls himself out of bed, yanking on his pants as his shirt and doublet are stuffed into his hands. “I believe you requested quite the opposite last night.” Jaskier smirks. 

“Someone’s coming.” She hisses and Jaskier hears it then, the creak of his impending fate. He jams his feet into his boots, cursing the laces under his breath. 

“Think of me fondly or not at all.” Jaskier whispers, pressing a kiss to her lips before dashing for the window. 

o~O~o

Geralt wasn’t trying to find Jaskier, he rarely needed to as his bard had a way of finding him even when he didn’t want to be found, but Destiny had a sick sense of humor, especially when it came to Geralt which his how the Witcher finds Jaskier hanging out a window.

“Did you swallow your lute?” Someone in the crowd calls to a round of laughter.

“Oi, serves ‘im right for beddin’ Felik’s wife. Got too big for ‘is britches.” Another calls, eyeing the bard with distaste. 

“You’re just jealous Aneta tried to soften you up after she slept with him thinking it would help you last longer. Someone else calls, momentarily distracting the crowd as they have a laugh at their neighbor.

Jaskier’s face burns as he struggles to free himself, but his hips are wedged against the sill and his toes barely scraping the floor, without someone to pull him free he’s not going anywhere soon. He sends up another silent plea, hoping that maybe there’s a lingering djinn to hear his plea. 

“Jaskier.” With a sigh Jaskier realizes he should have been more specific in his wording as he forces himself to meet Geralt’s stare, the Witcher unamused at best.

“Geralt, fancy meeting you here.” Jaskier smiles but it's strained, the longer he’s hinged the more he fears he’ll never stand straight again.

“What have you done?”

“Another man’s wife! _Again_.” Comes the answer from the crowd. 

“Hmm.” Geralt frowns down at Jaskier though he’s not the least bit surprised, they’d been chased out of town more than once after one of Jaskier’s dalliances went sideways. Jaskier’s head drops at the man’s words, shame pouring off of him and Geralt rounds on the assembled group, golden eyes flashing in the early morning light sending the group on their way. 

With a sigh Geralt turns back to Jaskier who is shoving against the wall still no closer to freeing himself. “You’re stuck.” Geralt observes, earning a glare from Jaskier.

“It’s good to see your observation skills are sharp as ever. Now are you going to help me?” Jaskier’s tone is sharp but Geralt knows him well enough that embarrassment is lingering just under the surface. Geralt turns and heads for the front door, ignoring the sharp inhale Jaskier makes when he realizes he’s walking away.

Geralt knocks on the front door and waits, the muted sounds of Jaskier still struggling reaching him from around the side of the house. Two women answer, eyes widening at the sight of a Witcher looming in their door.

“Can...can we help you?” The shorter one asks, what must be her sister behind her.

“You have my bard.” The sister’s grin widens, telling Geralt it wasn’t her who’d slept with Jaskier, no she was enjoying her sister’s folly. Without waiting for an invite he isn’t sure would come Geralt steps into the house, forcing them back. It’s easy enough to find the bedroom by following the sounds of Jaskier struggling, his steps scrabbling the closer Geralt gets.

From this side it’s obvious what the problem is, Jaskier had gone belly first out the window, his ample hips wedging themselves against the sill. It’s clear Jaskier is panicking, the toes of his boots searching for purchase as he tries to force himself through with no luck. 

“Jaskier.” The familiar voice drains the fight out of him, his body going limp as a week, “Geralt.” Sounds over his shoulder.

Geralt debates finishing the job Jaskier started and pushing him through the window but he fears the force necessary would scrape a few inches off the bard’s hip bones in the process. With a sigh Geralt steps up behind Jaskier, grasping his hips, “Lean back.” As Jaskier does his best to straighten himself Geralt braces himself and pulls, the sound of tearing giving him pause but it’s only fabric, not flesh. 

Jaskier pops free, stumbling back into Geralt who steadies him. Jaskier stretches back, trying to work out the twinge in his back from being hinged so long and spying his lover and her sister watching from the door, flashes a bastard making smile. 

"You need less pie or less women, Jaskier." Geralt notes, looking pointedly between Jaskier’s soft belly peeking out from the tears in his chemise to the contenders lingering in the door. Jaskier’s smirk falls, he knew Geralt was right, too many more pies and less women wouldn’t _be_ a problem. 

Geralt heads for the door, scattering the sisters, leaving Jaskier to make more poor choices should he so desire but the bard’s footsteps reluctantly follow. Stepping into the nearly empty street Geralt turns back the way he’d come, intending to head back to their rooms and gather their things, maybe they can be out of town before word spreads too far. 

It takes Geralt half the way back to realize what’s odd, a noise had broken the silence. Glancing sideways he confirms what his ears already knew, Jaskier was keeping pace beside him, though his expression telling Geralt he’s lost to the depths of his mind, hands absently rubbing the sides of his stomach. 

Jaskier’s stomach is growling, protesting it’s dislike of missing breakfast and probably lunch as the cruel taunts and Geralt’s words circle round and round. He knows he should be grateful Geralt was not only there to help him but hasn’t left him in some town yet. They were all right, he’d gotten so big he couldn’t fit through a window and would probably have continued on his way if no one had said anything. 

Geralt leads them into the inn, Jaskier absently following along and dropping into the chair across from Geralt, wondering if his other chemise will even still fit, it’d been snug the last time he’d worn it and that had been a few towns past. 

“What’ll you have?” The barmaid asks, stopping at their table. 

Before Jaskier can wave his answer away Geralt says, “Two for breakfast.” She nods and is gone, Geralt looking across the table at Jaskier who is gaping at him. 

"I couldn't fit through a fucking window Geralt. You want to see how quickly I can't fit through the door?" With that Jaskier shoves up from the table, weaving through the room with a speed Geralt hasn’t seen in months he disappears up the stairs, presumably to their room. 

Geralt waits for their food to arrive, ignoring the curious glances he gets from other patrons, before collecting the plates and heading upstairs. Opening the door to their room Geralt spies Jaskier curled on the bed, only his enhanced senses able to hear his soft cries, the sharp tang of salt slowly filling the room. 

Setting their plates on the table Geralt perches on the edge of the bed, “Jask?” But Jaskier doesn’t answer, if anything he tries to curl tighter into himself as though if he makes himself small enough Geralt will forget he exists. Jaskier's chemise was torn up the sides when Geralt pulled him free, giving Geralt a perfect view of the pale expanse of Jaskier’s belly and the angry red marks where his hips were pinched in the sill.

"Windows are not meant to be used as escape means Jaskier, they are built purposefully small to keep unwanted people from climbing in." Geralt says, running calloused fingers gently over the tender marks

“I’ve never had a problem climbing in _or_ out, windows are a bard’s door, Geralt.” Jaskier argues softly.

"You didn't have the renown you do now." Geralt counters, repeating when Jaskier looks affronted. " _Renown_ , Jaskier. You have the coin to keep you from surviving off scraps, don't let shame taint what you've worked to achieve."

Jaskier turns at Geralt's words, so rare was the Witcher to compliment his work and Geralt takes the opportunity to retrieve Jaskier's plate, encouraging him to sit up against the headboard and eat, but Jaskier just picks at the plate, his pride still wounded. 

Geralt has never been great with his words, but decades with the bard have shown him what the right touch can bring. Cupping either side of Jaskier's belly Geralt begins to gently rub, careful of his calloused fingers as they ghost over the blooming bruises

By the time Jaskier has finished his plate the tears have dried as well and he fights a yawn that only a full belly and a night of escapades can bring. Setting the plate aside, Geralt urges Jaskier to lay down as his blinks grow slower.

"Geralt." His name is a plea accompanied by the need in Jaskier's eyes. With gentle hands Geralt pulls Jaskier up, slipping the torn shirt off and dropping it to the floor, his boots following. He considers the pants but Geralt’s hesitated too long and Jaskier is curling back on his side, eyes never leaving Geralt as though he fears the moment he does his Witcher will slip away.

Geralt sheds his own shirt and boots, stretching out on his back, his arm barely around Jaskier's shoulder before his bard is moving closer. In the silence of the room Jaskier's shuddering breaths tell Geralt his insecurities are still lingering. "You'll always fit here, Jask." Geralt murmurs, pulling Jaskier closer, thumb drifting lazy paths up and down Jaskier’s arm, listening as his breaths even out and he slips into a comforting slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Love to hear what you think!


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